Epilogue - Age of Mortals
by Sheitan
Summary: In the aftermath of the defeat of Cynoval, Jaina and Thrall find themselves in dire need of assistance. Also, there might be unresolved matter of hearts. Read Age of Mortals for this to make sense. 2017 - f*ck myself, I still want to finish this story. I'm not dead.
1. Chapter 1 - Lost

_**Author's note:** I considered very seriously to delete the Epilogue, since my editing of Age of Mortals have meant that I have to rewrite all the chapters. However, I decided against it. Please, have patience… _

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_**CHAPTER 1  
**_

 _ **LOST**_

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 _It was cold - shockingly so after the warmth of the cave - and wet and stinking of rotten vegetation and something that was only definable as decay. Jaina let go of Thrall's waist, and fell on her back into soft, slimy mud. She stared up, her field of vision half filled with his hunched body, half with the clouded sky._

 _"It's over," she whispered, in disbelief. Cynoval was incapacitated and that was all that mattered for her right now, in this moment. She was dead tired, felt like she had been turned inside out, and her leg was burning, but that was all. No nagging presence in her mind, no muttering distrust. She was free._

 _"We would have been buried with the – demon – had it not been for you," Thrall said slowly. He looked away. "Why? After all we did? Why bury us?" His voice was heavy and wretched, and Jaina scrambled to her feet in panic, only to fall down on one knee with an outcry of pain. The wound in her leg had reopened when the Hollow One had approached her – or perhaps the healing had been an illusion all along._

" _Jaina, take care!" In a flash, he was at her side, easing her back down into the muck. He pulled off one gauntlet and ran a hand down her left leg. His touch was so gently it was hard to reconcile with the damage he had dealt the Hollow One._

" _The piece of wood is gone and the wound does not look as bad as before. Do you have any healing?" His voice still held a dark undercurrent, but there was also sincere worry and warmth, and she could have cried from relief. He was broken, but it was his own brokenness, not demonic influence._

 _"No, I used my last vial when I got wounded in the first place."_

 _His gaze flickered and then he gave her a tight smile. "It's okay. Let me -" He closed his hand around her legs, his hand so large that his fingers almost met around her calf, and closed his eyes. Warmth emanated from his hand, and the pain eased._

 _We will have to come back", she said bleakly. "You will have your chance to repent. For now, can there not be a small grace in an evil conquered?" She looked at him pleadingly._

 _He grumbled something too low for her to pick up, and helped her stand, still avoiding her gaze._

 _"Thrall, what is it - Light, don't move!" Jaina stared at the long spike of crystal protruding from his shoulder, where it had cut straight through the metal of his armor._

 _He grunted, and twisted his neck to look at the spike._

 _"Bigger than I thought," he grunted. "Doesn't hurt that much. I think the armor halted it. Besides, didn't you say that you had no healing left?"_

 _"No, but I have hands," she retorted, more in spite that anything else. Even in peak condition, she could hardly make a razor-sharp piece of crystal lodged in solid steel budge._

 _"Do not worry, Lady Proudmoore, I promise I'll not drop dead right away."_

 _"Don't say that!" Jaina retorted, more harshly than she had intended._

 _Thrall frowned, and then winced as he carefully moved his shoulder._

 _"I will not, then," he said wearily, and Jaina shook her head hastily. They were still so raw, so vulnerable._

 _"No, please, I only meant that loosing you, now, it would be devastating." As soon as the words were out she knew them to be the absolute truth._

 _"Truly?" he said mildly._

 _"Truly," she confirmed, with a tentative smile. Standing here, in muck to her ankles and nose full of decay, she felt like she was coming back to herself. The nightmarish miasma of the last few weeks was receding into her mind to take their place amongst her memories, and her eyes were unclouded._

 _It was not really time for formalities, but this she had to say. There could be no mistakes now. They had to do this right._

 _"Thrall," she began slowly, intentionally using his name. "We were trust together by forces out of our control, and despite the history of our races we became allies. We have won all our battles, overcome all obstacles, and I will say this: I have never met a braver warrior or a more capable leader. I believe that we can do something good in these lands, together. If you want to." She held out her hand and was proud to notice that it did not tremble._

 _Thrall's face did nothing to hide his genuine feelings – blue eyes widening and tusked jaw falling slightly open. Then he blinked and rapidly collected himself. The shocked expression was replaced with one of happiness, equally genuine, and there was a warm glow in his eyes that almost masked the fatigue and ache._

 _"Lady Proudmoore, before you, I have only met one human being that was kind to me. You have shown me more than kindness. You have shown me the future, and it is a good one."_

 _He clasped her hand in his much larger one._

 _"Jaina, it is an honor to know you," he said formally, and then he grinned and pulled her close in a bear hug. Jaina let out a surprised wheeze, and then hugged him back as best she could._

 _Together, bloody, beaten, victorious, they hugged and laughed until their throats were dry, and Jaina found it hard to breath._

 _Slowly, Thrall loosened his hold._

 _"I can barely believe that we are alive," Jaina said, sucking in much-needed air. "My father would have slapped me for just a fraction of all the foolishness I have managed so far."_

 _"Then your father is a royal fool," Thrall said, and Jaina muttered something noncommittal and added aloud: "This alliance, we cannot allow it to be broken."_

 _"If there is one thing I have learned from this nightmare," the Warchief said, looking down at her gravely, "it is how easy it can all fall apart. A word, a willful misinterpretation... I have my sanity back, Jaina, and I do not mean to squander it."_

 _"Good." Tiredly, Jaina laid her cheek on the cool metal covering his broad chest. Too late, she became aware, not so much of what she was doing, for they were no closer than when he had carried her, but how it made her feel. Too late. Time can never be turned back, and truths, however unpleasant and impractical, have a tendency to worm their way to the surface._

 _Thrall pushed her away. Not roughly, not even close. A broad hand on her shoulder, then he simply stretched his arm._

 _"I'm sorry," she whispered._

 _"So am I," he replied. Yes, it was over. For now._


	2. Chapter 2 - Brave the Waters

AN: This chapter is a bit heavy in the angst and the protagonists move perhaps 2 miles. Again, a fair warning, that is TxJ with a heavy focus on said characters. Also, I soon have to face the nightmare of rereading Age of Mortal. Argh. Also, not beta'ed.

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 _Chapter 2 – Brave the waters_

In the following, slightly unpleasant silence, Jaina deliberately took a step back and turned around to survey their surroundings.

Her heart was racing away in her chest, but in contrast, her thoughts had frozen up, refusing to move past the feeling of his nearness. She was genuinely terrified.

As if they were not in enough trouble as it was. They were standing ankle deep in sucking, dead-brown mud, covered with islands of rotten vegetation that looked and smelled like days-old intestines. An eerie silence hung over the morass and the overcast, grey sky seemed as oppressive and low as an anvil on her shoulders. If felt like they were the only life left in the world.

If only. That would make things much easier, she thought with a perverse longing.

"Do you have any way of finding out where we are?" She kept her voice low as she forced herself to look at him again.

Thrall regarded her for a long moment. She steeled her gaze and her face though her heart felt like broken china.

"Perhaps," he finally said. He closed his eyes and Jaina's shoulders slumped with relief. She could palpably feel his spirit reaching out. It prickled across her skin like hail. After a moment, he shuddered and slowly opened his eyes.

"Silence," he muttered. "All ragged silence."

Then he shook his head, and seemed to snap out of a daze.

"I can hear faint whispers, like the rustling of leaves, distant footfalls, but they make no sense to me." He frowned.

She tensed.

Sensing her fear, he quickly shook his head.

"No, it is not like – like before. It seems more like something is interfering with Spirits, but it's outside of me, like fog, if that makes sense to you."

He paused.

"I am dead tired, Jaina, and that last channeling took a good chunk out of me. Perhaps it is just fatigue... but it seems to be getting closer."

Jaina almost smiled. Yes, that was to be expected, at least.

Resolutely, she straightened, and did as she had done before when everything threatened to make the world go belly up. She went to work. Cynoval was dead, they were alive. And she would do her damnest to ensure that it stayed this way.

She looked up at the sky. The clouds were an unbroken shield of grey, and the air seemed to thicken, turning heavy and moist.

It was as if the forest was releasing the miasmas of the demon reign, breathing out heavily and obscuring the light.

"You have better eyes than me," she said. "Can you make out the sun?"

Thrall groaned and squinted at the sky. Jaina bid her lip. There was nothing in his expression but exhaustion and pain. Guilt suddenly stabbed at her, twisting and sucking deep in her belly. Her wounds were healed, while all he had harvested from his efforts was a deadly spike through his body.

She glares at said spike, rising serenely and glittering, even against the murky sky, half expecting in to shatter under the sheer weight of the hatred in her gaze. Of course, no such thing happened, but as Thrall turned, she noticed something. The crystal's pure reflection had dimmed.

"Thrall, stop!" she exclaimed, and he obeyed, looking bewildered and alarmed.

"No, there's no danger," she went on quickly. "It's the crystal, there might be something we can use... Please, turn slowly."

The Warchief did so, slowly turning like a roast on a spit, while Jaina watched the crystal intently, not really knowing what she was looking for. He took a couple of steps left and the glow of the crystal increased, then he took a few more steps and the light faded a bit.

She frowned.

"Go right," she said.

"Jaina – "

"No, please, just do it. I think it is important." He winced and took two steps to the right, and Jaina had a brief moment of feeling utterly ridiculous. And then she saw how the light brightened and dimmed again.

"The sun!" she all but yelled. "The crystal catches the light of the sun!"

He looked at her, eyes narrow, for a moment, and then understanding dawned on him.

"A blessing in disguise," he groaned with a faint smile. Jaina nodded and placed a gentle hand upon his arm.

"Let's get out of here," she whispered.

Taking guidance from the flickering reflections in the bright crystal, Sorceress and Warchief slowly trudged through the hideous muck in the direction they hoped would lead them back to their people.

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They had not walked for very long, perhaps a half-hour or so, when Jaina had to concede that they were in real trouble. Not of the magical or otherwise world-shattering kind, but in their current situation, equally dire. It was trouble in which any peasant or foot-soldier might find themselves. It was the simple trouble of the body giving out.

While Jaina was merely exhausted and soul-weary, her healed leg throbbing, Thrall was fading.

He did not show it outright. He had a mountainous constitution, and as he plodded along next to her, the slight sheen of sweat on his skin and the strained draw of his mouth did not seem out of place. But there was a grayish tint to his green skin, and his breath was uneven and much harder than their tempo should warrant. Jaina had been in enough infirmaries to recognize his injury for what it was. He was bleeding internally. The crystal had cut his insides and now the blood was leaking into his body cavity, slowly draining away his strength and life.

Each step was making it worse.

Jaina could have cried at the unfairness of it all.

They had managed to find their way to drier ground, the foul-smelling morass giving way to a landscape of low, gnarled and twisted pines with greying needles and tufts of coarse, yellow grasses spreading a thin, organic network over the liver-colored ground. The very air seemed more wholesome. It was simply unacceptable that a simple wound should be the bane of him.

If they could find a place for him to rest and hide while she went on...

Jaina's stomach clenched. There were no caves here, no adequate shelter of any kind and she hardly knew if she had the strength to conjure up a simple water elemental. And how long would it take for her to locate their troops, if she was even able to?

The Felwood had been quiet so far, but Jaina was not deceived. It was the stunned silence following the fall of a king, not the quiet of peace.

The influence of the Hollow One had reached out to more than the allied forces; all living and even unliving – and the lines truly did blur in this place – of these woods had been touched by that entity's foul hand, a web that clung to all from the smallest beetle to the largest tree. And now all strings had been severed and the touched creatures were still reeling. It would not last for long, and when the Felwood awoke again, they had to be back in the relative safety of the camp.

Jaina did not have an unduly high opinion of herself – she knew her own worth with ruthless honesty – and she truly feared for the destiny of the ragtag survivors if she and Thrall did not make it back. This moment was a fulcrum upon which the direction of the future rested. It could lead to prosperity and peace. Or to death and destruction.

They had to make it back.

If nothing else, sheer stubbornness would have to do. A stubbornness Jaina's father to his dismay had found lurking just below the porcelain skin of his only daughter. In a son, such willpower was desirous, in a female it was only an obstacle and a cause of grievance.

Stubbornness she knew and trusted, even more than her magic. It would have to do.

"Thrall, stop," she said.

He took a step, and one more, before he stopped and turned to look at her. She saw with dismay that his gaze was just not tired, but glazed-over.

She wondered where he had hidden the pain.

"You cannot go on like this."

He slowly looked around, moving only his head jerkily.

"This is not known land," he said. "We walk on." The last was said quietly, but as undebatable as an order to charge.

Jaina swallowed. She was caught between a rock and a hard place – or rather, a Warchief and survival.

"If you walk on, you die," she half yelled.

He just looked at her, his blue eyes mild and hazy. "We all die, sooner or later."

He was delirious, Jaina suddenly realized. He wouldn't listen. Without thinking, she stepped in front of him, as if she would be any physical deterrent to him.

"What will become of the Clans if you die here?" she exclaimed, pleading with his love for his people, which she knew to be immense.

He winced, but then shook his head. "That's why I have to get back," he said cryptically, his voice low and slightly slurred. "It's all gonna come apart."

"It will come apart for sure if you die here!" she implored. "Think! They are vulnerable! They will fall under demonic influence again, bath in blood, turn on each other!"

He actually flinched at that, and his eyes shortly cleared. Then he shook his head again, moaning with pain or dejection, she could not tell.

"I cannot stay here," he said, and moved forward quite suddenly. Jaina, refusing to move, ended up with her face a hair's breadth from his black breastplate.

"Please," she whispered, laying a hand on the cold steel. She was down to this, to begging the Warchief of the Horde to stop walking.

He stopped. And Jaina shook with a sudden revelation.

"Why do you have to keep walking?" she had to ask.

"Because you keep walking," he replied, as if it was the most obvious truth in the world.

She took a step back, craned her neck and looked up at him.

"You will stay here if I ask it of you." It was not really a question.

A fulcrum of the future, indeed.

And her suspicion was confirmed when the Warchief said in a firm voice: "For you."

She was stymied. Her mouth moved but no words emerged. She felt as if a blizzard spell had gone off in her mind.

"No," she finally stammered. "Don't do this." She was not even sure of what she meant, but she had a stifling sense of foreboding and delight, like honey devoured in the dark.

A heavy weight fell on her shoulder. She startled. Thrall had laid an armored arm across her back.

"Jaina, for you I will brave the waters," he said hoarsely. _Delirious,_ she thought desperately, _he is delirious!_ She pushed back, trying to disentangle herself as gently as possible.

"Don't," she whispered. "Not for me, I am not worth it. Do it for the kingdom, not for me." She was babbling, lightheaded, delirious as well.

Thrall suddenly shifted, drawing up sharply, like a hound with a scent, and then shivered and coughed. Red droplets rained down and Jaina let out a cry that might be his name, might be a prayer. Fear arched up her spine, she almost felt the blade between her shoulder blades.

Instead, she staggered on her feet as Thrall suddenly released his grip on her. She heard soft growling, the rapid footfall of giant paws.

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TBC


End file.
